In the lonely mists
of days, short and gray
my clenched fists
mourn the yellow day.
When I roamed and ran
through fields of rye
and nothing but the Sun
shadowed my way.
It’s a sweet shadow though
of mornings fresh and bright
of the tranquil, solemn night
when we played hide and seek.
And the eagles befriended me
for the sky, blue, we shared
dreamt on wings of feather,
we Lived, no one cared.
Zephyrs took our laughter
high and high, reaching heavens
for all the Gods to gather
and join in our funny games.
But today the wind’s no friend
Lonely peaks, listless, stand.
No sympathy, no warmth,
the hearth is empty frame.
We mourn the day!